


Third Law

by ruituh



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Borderline Character Study, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:12:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8588653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruituh/pseuds/ruituh
Summary: Jason is always trying to push Dick away, but the man is a trapeze artist. The harder Jason pushed, the harder he swung back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really following any specific continuity with this--I've just been cherry picking parts of different ones--but it's largely New 52 based. Please note that this is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes I might have made.  
> 

 

Nothing in the world was black and white and if Bruce wasn’t so set in his ways he’d realize that too. Even before death Jason had realized that justice wasn’t some pure sacred concept, so easily tainted by the means to get there. It wasn’t inherently good or bad— _nothing_ was. Vengeance, punishment, redemption, tooth for tooth, they were all different flavors of the same poison. If justice had a color, like many things in the world, it would be gray.

Gotham itself was famous for being the _Gray City_ in every sense of the word. The skies were always clouded by heavy smog, sometimes thick enough to dull building lights and fill lungs like cigarette smoke. There was always something so foreboding about the infrastructure, the weather, and the way it could go for days before the sun was visible. As a kid, Jason would sometimes wonder if he would ever see it again at all. Something about that must get into people’s psyches, it must change people, because everyone who has gotten a bit too much of Gotham has ended up feeling rather gray as well. It was a beautiful city with a rich history and a diverse mix of people, but every ounce of good was met in full with the bad. Jason had a hands on learning experience with that.

Even before his _intermission_ with death, he spent more years as a pickpocket than as a Robin—than as a “hero.” He’d lived on the streets long enough to know that hardened criminals were like weeds. You can’t just clip away at them and expect them to disappear. You gotta pluck them from the root, and kill them so they don’t grow back. When Jason got rid of a problem, he got rid of them _permanently._ Or at least he used to. He’d been trying to play by the books, but his copy of it was still a bit charred from the explosion a couple of years back. Anyways, it was why he would never see eye to eye with the old Bat.

It was also probably why Dick Grayson wouldn’t leave him alone as if he was appointed his new babysitter. Grayson was always turning up at inopportune moments, and it had to be deliberate. Bruce probably asked Dick to keep an eye out for him and to keep him in check. Bruce didn’t trust him. Never did, never would. He probably would never trust _anyone_ as much as Alfred or Dick, so having the elder man’s annoying mug follow him around was probably to insure he didn’t go off the deep-end (again). It was a fear Bruce had even back when he had an R emblem proudly adorning his chest. Even now that he was (mostly) off killing, trying to turn a new leaf, because he was much more brutal and violent than what Batman and Co. seemed to deem respectable. He was always taking it _too far_ , while they were never taking it far enough.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be, dick?” he muttered to his ex-predecessor over the comm which the Good to his Bad Grayson had so easily hijacked. Jason recently added extra security measures _and_ had it turned off to start with, but of course Grayson would be able to find a way to connect and activate it. Of course. Everything about him was so frustrating, and he couldn’t lay a single finger on Pretty Boy’s head—not without having his absurdly high number of allies come after him (Batman, the Titans, the entire goddamned Justice League, just to name a few). So he took the frustration out on the goons in front of him. He elbowed a guy coming at him from behind, using the momentum to swing a kick across another guy’s stomach, watching disinterestedly as the man curled into himself and fell to the ground.

“Codenames,” Dick reprimanded, finally catching up to him after getting rid of the snipers at the posts above the building. He sounded amused—delighted even—by his apparent irritation. “And come’on, what could I have to do that’s better than hanging out with you, buddy?”  And Jason knew letting himself get even _more_ angry was just fanning the flames and exactly was Grayson wanted him to do, but he couldn’t help it. The guy just brought him back to a place where he was fifteen and never good enough—back to a life that had taught him at a young age that love was conditional so _not good enough_ was something he could never afford to be. It made him sensitive and prickly and he really should be over it by now. Although, not getting over things was kinda _his thing._

“I wasn’t calling you by name, _buddy,”_ he parroted, voice as biting as he could manage. But Grayson was used to phallic jokes by then and just quirked one side of his mouth a bit higher.

“Bro, your insults are usually better than that. I’m disappointed.”

“If I cared about you, maybe I would put in more effort,” Jason said flatly, finger rubbing against the trigger of his gun still tucked into his holster. He was getting antsy, index tightening and loosening around it, craving the distraction of conflict and the smell of gun powder.

“Ouch,” Dick mimed being stabbed dramatically, before narrowly avoiding _actually_ being stabbed by a man hiding in the corner. The lack of surprise and the way the way Grayson’s cheeks pushed up at his domino told Jason he knew the guy was there all along. He was as much a fan of a good cat and mouse chase as Jason was. They were like two sides of the same coin that way. So similar, but different in all the ways that matter.

There were no absolutes in the world, as far as Jason believed. The ultimate symbol of strength was Superman, and he had kryptonite. He had distinct memories of watching Selina both steal valuables and saving lives. Even someone like the Joker (the bastard) probably had something good, somewhere deep, deep, deep down. Jason thought about a crowbar and the image of crazed faces in downtown Gotham, slaughtering their own loved ones under the Joker's control. On second thought, maybe crazies were an exception because he was sure there was nothing more to the Joker than evil and a bad sense of humor, and maybe it had to do with the fact that the guy was a full burger short of a happy meal.

But Dick Grayson? He was probably the only other exception to the rule. He was too headstrong and stubborn, he always took things to heart, he could be as unmovable as old bat himself, he was too single minded, ignoring everyone and everything else when he felt like he had to do something, he always ended up trusting people he shouldn’t, he always blamed himself fiercely for every shortcoming, and he was just godawful at tidying up. He had so many flaws that Jason could write a list, publish a book, win a Pulitzer for it, and _still_ have enough material for a sequel. But despite that all, he was just so fucking _good._ And it _pissed_ him off.

It just grated at him that Dick “Golden Boy” Grayson could say or do just about anything and it would seem like the right thing. He hated how Dick could so easily get underneath his skin, and make him second guess what he was doing. And if there was o _ne_ thing you couldn’t do on the field, it was second guess yourself with a finger pressed against a hot trigger. 

Yeah, almost everyone in Gotham was so goddamn gray and broken, all missing something important. If Jason was a shade of gray he would be graphite, lead, the color of Gotham’s smoggy skies. But Grayson’s Gray (say that 10 times fast), was like someone tripped over the damn uniform he always left on the ground and spilled white all over it. God damn, he fucking hated Grayson and that fucking metaphor.

That’s why it was so annoying to have him buzz around him like a fly he couldn’t smack. A really loud fly that tried to make small-talk and somehow followed him half way around the world to Qurac. For some reason his ex-predecessor was “helping him” which just meant he was getting in the way. It was not to say Dick wasn’t skilled—he hated him but not to the extent of being delusional—but because Jason couldn’t think straight when he was around. His skin tight uniform with bright blue decal was distracting enough (for reasons he would much rather not visit, thank you), but if he needed to send a bullet through something a little more _permanent_ instead of their shins, the annoying fly would probably start smacking _him_ instead. And Jason was off killing, sure, that would never be his end goal, but sometimes collateral damage was inevitable. Some lives weren’t worth sparing. Plus, terrorists and rapists were the two groups he had the least sympathy for, and the lovely bunch he was facing were a detestable mixture of the two.

“So, what’s the plan?” Dick asked, stretching out his neck like he had just finished a good warm up. “Do a quick sweep through, back to back? Or are we thinking the espionage route, divide and conquer style?” His eager voice and the way he talked like there was so much familiarity between them made Jason’s throat tighten and his eyes burn.

“ _We_ don’t think anything, Nightwing. There is no we. This is _my_ mission.”

“Greedy, greedy,” Dick tsked with the wag of his finger. “What? Didn’t your parents teach you how to share?”

Jason paused for a moment, face feeling a rush of heat with misplaced anger, and he had to take a few deep breaths, in and out (inoutinout), before he could loosen his clenched fists again. His nails left red crescent moon indents in the palms of his hands. Dick obviously hadn’t meant anything by it, it was just the mindless banter that came easy to him. A playful jab here, a joke there, sandwiched between godawful puns. It wasn’t an attack but Jason was always preemptively on the defense, ready to strike and be stricken. “No. No they didn’t. They didn’t do a whole lotta teaching, actually.”

He didn’t have to look at the other man to know the way his eyes widened, the slight parting of his usually upturned lips, or that he would momentarily stop moving at all. For someone so well known for their spontaneity, Dick was predictable that way. “Jay, I didn’t—you know I didn’t—“

“I know,” Jason said gruffly, raising a hand to cut him off. “I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

“Good,” Dick replied with sincerity. He was a lot of things, a pain in Jason’s ass being the top of them, but he was never the type to take advantage of someone’s wounds. Grayson wasn’t lacking in the tragic past department himself, so Jason was probably pretty shitty to even imply that he was trying take a jab at it. Though the angry, petty, unlikable part of Jason—the part that was slowly eating away at everything else—couldn’t help but feel jealous anyways. It was feeling vindicated, telling him that Dick deserved to feel guilty, that at least he had gotten a chance to live a good decade or so with people who truly loved him, unlike Jason who never even had a taste. It always felt like a competition with him, and Jason didn’t know what about the other man made him so ugly.

It was funny, as a kid he used to try to impress him in his own childish way. He’d try to show that he could be a hero too, that he was strong enough to do things without Nightwing’s help, but he’d always end up showing the worst parts of himself.

“Yeah, so, let’s get to it then,” Jason coughed awkwardly to escape the conversation, unintentionally giving Dick permission to tag along without realizing it.

Dick smiled in response, saluting him playfully with two fingers. “Aye, aye, boss.”

Jason had an odd moment of feeling like he was the Batman and Dick was the Robin in this scenario. With the entrance cleared, they took their time to make a move, scanning for how many heat signatures detected within their proximity, confirming that the captives were being held there. It was the second base on Jason’s list to raid, and his sources pointed towards it being the right one.  

Above ground it looked like a normal decommissioned textile factory, but underground was a makeshift prison with slave labor and experiments. It was owned by the leader of a prominent terrorist group, and he’d bet his good rifle that they were being used to either test or produce the new bioweapons that recently popped up on the black-market. The thought had Jason grinding his teeth and got his trigger finger itching again. It was a matter of time before whoever was guarding the inside would catch onto their presence, although, until that point they had been rather quiet and stealthy.

Jason was ready for things to get loud.

 

 

 

 

Jason was right about it being the right base alright, he just didn’t foresee the scale of the operation and how heavily guarded it would be. That’s why this was his fault, it was all his fault. It was _his_ mission and _his_ responsibility.

He tried to blame Nightwing—blame him for being his walking conscience, but there was nothing worse than trying to put everything on someone else’s shoulders. It was his choice. Non-lethal force was definitely no problem for him in terms of skill, but it was less efficient. He had to plan every shot perfectly, he had to pay full attention so those dumbasses didn’t move and make his strategic aim at their shoulder hit something vital like their axillary artery. Plus, those fuckers didn’t always want to stay down when physics, biology, logic and everything else was telling them to.

The two of them were fighting hard but they weren’t outclassed. The problem was that they were absolutely outnumbered and then some. Just dodging the rain of bullets was making it difficult to be on the offense, but they were seasoned and they knew how to work together. Him and Nightwing, Robin Prime and the second, discontinued model. The basis of all their movements were the same, but they had moved on in their years apart and trained and progressed in very different ways. It made it so they were complimentary, but also different enough to make up for what the other lacked. All Nightwing would have to do is yell “’Hood!” and he’d know to turn and attack his blind spot. Jason would nod his head to one side and Nightwing would take care of the guys coming as Jason’s hands were tied fighting some other lackies.

It was almost fun, with the triumphant looks they’d send each other when they each did something particularly badass, or the laughter he’d get for each of his quips at the guys they were fighting. Usually he had no audience unless he was with the Outlaws, but he had been working solo for a while. They would exchange looks, help each other out, and share banter. As much as he liked to sell the lone wolf image (he _was_ a crimelord after all), something about working in a team just worked. And as much as he _liked_ to hate Nightwing, the man was one helluva team.

So as the number of conscious opponents dwindled (along with the number of zip ties they had for the more stubbornly conscious ones) they started feeling the effects of a long battle on their bodies, they got messy. Careless.

They were so _close_ , so close to freeing those poor innocent people, locked up like cattle. But Jason made a mistake, miscalculated, and let his guard down enough that he fell to the ground, allowing one of the larger guys to attack him. “Way to kick a man while he’s down,” Jason choked out as the modern day caveman knocked him around. He tasted blood with each word, but if anything, he knew how to take a hit. “Literally.” He tried to move and was practically stepped-on on his ribs, and the brute looked like he weighed half a ton. Caveman even had a bullet wound in the arm but didn’t seem too bothered by it, telling Jason he was probably genetically modified.

It was embarrassing, but after Nightwing took care of the last of the others, he had to save Jason’s ass. Jason took deep wheezing gasps when Nightwing distracted the caveman enough for Jason to stand again. Being on the ground wasn’t the position someone wanted to be in during battle (not that he was in any position to give much of a fight anymore).

The big guy was desperate; he was the last one standing of all of his comrades. He pulled Nightwing into a chokehold, brute strength taking him off guard. Nightwing would have been able to break free rather easily, but then there was a gun pushed against his skull with such force that his neck was nearly at a ninety-degree angle. “Shoot me and you’ll shoot him. Go ahead and move if you want your friend to die,” the man grunted, spitting to the side. But Jason knew how to read people, and knew that there was no real choice. Caveman wasn’t honorable enough to hold true to his word. Whether Jason moved or not, they were both dead men, so he had to incapacitate him somehow. But Jason’s right arm was fractured, his ankle sprained, and he was sure there was something going on with his ribs. There was no way he was going to be able to take a guy of that size in the state he was in. It would be suicide, and if he took too long to move, it would just guarantee a bullet through Birdbrain’s bird brain.  

“Let Red Hood go,” Nightwing managed to say, breathing hard and chest heaving. His eyes were hooded from exertion and his sweat caused his thick hair to stick onto his forehead. “He has connections in dark places and they’ll hunt you down. You know it. But me? I’m allied with Batman,” the man’s eyes widened with recognition and obvious hatred. “You know how much my blood is worth?”

“Nightwing,” Jason growled, voice warning.

“Yeah, you don’t like the old bat I take it? Let Hood go and you can take it all out on me. Hood, _leave_.” He gave Jason a look that was easy enough to translate. _Finish the mission, don’t worry about me._ Then there was a weak half-smile when he really should’ve been shaking in his boots, barrel of a 45 pressed against that thick skull of his. Did he get his rocks off to being a fucking matyr?

“Are you stupid or what?” Jason gritted, but Nightwing’s little speech riled the caveman up enough to distract him. Jason just had a second, his instincts were all he needed to tell him that. He swiftly took out his hidden backup pistol (gave a silent thanks to Bruce for raising him prepared and paranoid), and quickly pulled the trigger twice—once, so he’d drop the pistol, and twice for the kill. He had always been a great shot, even with his left hand, and knew he would not hit Boy Blue. He knew where to shoot to make it count, to make sure there was no way the caveman would have the mind or ability to hit the trigger. To make sure he would go down and stay down. Permanently. Jason shot to kill.

Nightwing stood frozen, looking more shaken than when his life was at risk. There was a loud _thud_ as that caveman fell to the ground, blood sputtering out of his throat. The death was quick but not painless. Dick pressed his fingers on his domino, as if he was afraid his mask was about to fly away, staring at the man’s lifeless form with anguish, and with all of the regret that Jason should have been feeling. He turned his head to Jason who had since taken his helmet off. Jason felt a bit ashamed at the look he was given, but not guilty. There was simply no other way. Not only to save both of their lives, but the lives of all the people locked up in the building, and all the people they would save in the future. Because at least Dick was there in front of him, alive enough to judge him, hate him, condemn him. Because Dick’s life was worth more than their enemy’s, and although he would never admit it, it was worth more than the bridges he would have to burn with Batman. Jason knew Dick wouldn’t see it that way, because he would rather let it all go to hell than to take a life.

“Damn, broke my streak. Five months clean for this,” Jason joked, cringing as he started to feel all the pain that had been drowned out with adrenaline. Fuck, his ribs weren’t just bruised, and he didn’t realize his head was concussed until his vision started to swim.

“Hood!” Dick said, momentarily forgetting his grief for the enemy to lunge for him and soften his fall to the ground. Jason just killed a man. He broke rule numero uno in the Holy Book of Bat, so why did the boy scout still look so worried about him? He could tell Dick’s eyebrows were scrunched together, but he couldn’t make out anything else behind that damn mask of his. “Stay awake,” Dick warned as he smacked his cheek a bit, trying to keep him up, but Jason couldn’t even feel it.

“Hey don’ be sad,” he coughed, trying to focus on where he thought Dick’s face was, but he was practically seeing double, words slurring. “How much didja lose in the bettin’ pool? I’ll pay ya back. Betcha you were the one who thought I’d stick it out.”

“Don’t talk,” he said worriedly, finger on his neck to take his vitals, no doubt feeling his decreasing heart rate and fever.

“Always trying to shut me up, ain’t ya?” His throat was burning and his head was pounding. He really shouldn’t be talking but he had one last thing to say. He stopped trying to keep his eyes open, and his headache felt a lot better without all that light. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just a surface wound,” he said, trying to laugh but failing. “Just go finish the mission. Free them and get them out asap. Someone’s gotta be a real hero for them.”

Nightwing… Dick… he said something else, but he couldn’t hear him as the darkness in the corner of his mind ebbed away at his consciousness, and he was drifting off. The last thing he felt was a bit of soft pressure at the top of his head before he was completely out. Then again, it could have just been the pounding of his headache.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason didn’t know how long he was out for; regardless, he thoroughly regretted waking up. His head was still throbbing, and whatever he was laying on was cold and hard. Someone had the right mind to put a pillow under his head, but Jason could tell he was not on his very comfortable new memory foam mattress that he was coerced into buying by Roy (the single good investment idea the guy has ever given him). It took a second, but he realized it was the familiar feeling of a medical cot.

Jason did what he always did when he found himself waking up somewhere strange—he played asleep until he could gauge the situation. Wherever he was had no heating or air conditioning system on and he didn’t smell antiseptics, so he knew it wasn’t some sort of hospital. He heard someone shift and the sound echoed in a way that was so familiar he knew it had to be a cave. Always a goddamn cave. He prayed it wasn’t the old Bat he was hearing a short distance away. He already had one headache to deal with, and it had been a long night (few hours? Days? However fucking long he’d been out for).

Jason didn’t usually dream. Even as a kid, he never did unless he was having a nightmare. It might have been whatever pain reliever someone was injecting him with, but he actually dreamed a lot that night. He dreamed about meeting Batman—so large and domineering, looking incredulously at the sight of Jason jacking his tires. The memory kept replaying in his head, good as new. He could almost feel the tire iron clenched in his fists, and the cold sweat he felt as the man’s intimidating form shadowed over him. How he couldn’t tell if he was going to be saved or sentenced.

Even now, he could not imagine what possessed Bruce to take him in. Potential or not, he wasn’t exactly a clean slate to pass on his ideals to, and they had definitely met on the wrong foot. Maybe he saw himself in Jason, who had grown up way too soon and could have gone down two very different paths at the flip of a coin. It could have been the humor of the situation, because beyond the mechanical skill, it would have taken a lot of bravery or stupidity to think you could get away with stealing from _the motherfucking Batman_. Maybe it was that if he had let Jason go and grow up with all of that anger, energy, and bottled potential, he would have ended up being one of Batman’s enemies. Maybe he would have gone from stealing tires to actual cars, to worse. In the end, you can take the kid out of crime ally but you can’t take the crime ally out of the kid. And maybe it was inevitable, Jason thought, because either way he went on to stealing _lives_ instead.

Piece of crap lives that would have killed more and would have killed more brutally than himself, but still living breathing lives nonetheless.  

He remembered meeting Nightwing way back when, equal parts kind and filled with childish resentment. Jason could relate to that. Seeing someone where he belonged made him feel disposable. It was natural so he couldn’t hold it against him. Even after Dick had warmed up to him (though the window of time between that and him dying had been rather slim), Jason could admit to being immature and snappy at him. Despite it all, he had admired the first Robin. He wanted to prove himself to him, be like him and be liked by him. Those types of emotions made Jason stupid, vulnerable, and push people away. But Dick is a fucking trapeze artist, the harder Jason pushed, the harder he swung back.

After deciding he was safe where he was, he opened his eyes tentatively, happy to find that he was not light sensitive anymore. Or it might have just been that the cave was so dim to start with. It only took him a moment to realize it wasn’t Bruce’s main base so they had to be still overseas. Good.

Dick stirred from his desk chair to look at him as soon as Jason moved which meant he had to be monitoring him pretty closely. Ever the multitasker, Dick had been eating and researching the case they were on, all while listening to music. He pulled his headphones off to give Jason his full attention.

“This cot feels like shit,” Jason told him honestly, voice rougher and deeper than usual due to sleep. He made a move to rub his eyes, but noticed his fractured hand was in a cast and his other one was strapped onto some medical machinery.

“Well, good morning to you too sunshine.”

“Nothing good about it,” Jason grunted before sitting up, wincing as he did so.

“You should take it easy. You have a mild concussion, you know. And one of your ribs is a bit fractured but it should be fine if you slow it down for like five weeks.”

“Like hell I will, Dr. Grayson.”

“Jason, really. This is serious.”

“I’m not laughing,” Dick gave him _a look_ and he stopped. Didn’t even mention that he was being a hypocrite, because Dick was always running around broken and bruised. He had more important things to discuss. “Just. How are they? The prisoners—Were they injured?”

“They’re fairing a lot better than you right now,” Dick smiled a bit, expression soft and thoughtful. “Just shaken up. I had to call the US military, and you _know_ how that is. You were knocked out for the really annoying bits.”

“I deserve at least that much after all this,” Jason gestured to himself and the set-up of monitors and medical machinery attached to him in that dark and unfurnished cave.

He just nodded, face full of sincerity despite the light tone of the conversation. “Yeah, we did a good thing. You saved a lot of people last night.” He strummed his fingers against his thigh, eyes becoming far off and distant. It was as if although they were locked onto Jason, he wasn’t really seeing him. Jason had a pretty good idea why. Dick often felt guilty for things that weren’t his fault. As a naturally empathetic person, he couldn’t help but feel emotions that weren’t his to feel, buckling under the weight of responsibilities that weren’t his to bear. And if there was anything an acrobat didn’t need, it was extra baggage weighing them down.

“So when will I get a call from daddy dearest to formally disown me once and for all?” Jason asked in what was supposed to be a joke but instead sounded as bitter as felt. Just thinking about the man made him feel like a petulant child who never knew what he did wrong. Which was ridiculous, because the only thing Jason had done was what he _had_ to.

“You won’t be hearing from him,” Dick responded, getting up from his desk chair suddenly. He must have been sitting there for a long time, back making audible popping sounds as he stretched with a loud yawn. Had he been sitting up waiting for him to wake up the entire time?

“Silent treatment then? Or maybe he couldn’t be bothered with me and is having you do his dirty work? Now I’m to be put in the same list of irredeemable bastards like the Joker? Gonna finally turn me over in the name of Justice?” Jason snorted, a nasty sneer on his face. He didn’t really think Dick would have it in him to turn him over to authorities. He might try, but either consciously or subconsciously, he would probably just let Jason go.

“Jay, If I wanted to turn you in I would have bound you down while you were out cold, and with a lot more than just IV drips.” He was running his hand through his hair. Looking frustrated and guilty, moving around like keeping still would give him too much time to sit and think about what he was doing.

“You… You didn’t tell him,” Jason whispered when the realization hit him. “You didn’t tell him that the mission went south, and you didn’t tell him that I—“

“You saved my life, Jason,” Dick said, cutting him off. “I should be a cold corpse right now.”

“It’s not the first time, Dick. We’re all operating on borrowed time, one foot in the grave. I know that better than anyone. It’s not your first near death experience, so what is it?” Jason wasn’t sure why he was actively trying to convince Dick that he should have ratted him out. It was against his own interests but he just needed the man to know the gravity of the situation. “The deal with Bats didn’t include second chances. One strike, I’m out. And it was my fault you were in that position to start with. We could play the blame game all day long.”

“And so what do you suggest I do?” Dick asked, resting some of his weight against the edge of his makeshift bed, half sitting right by Jason’s hip.

“I suggest you start thinking a little. You’re never going to forgive me.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“You’re never going to forgive _yourself._ You don’t have the stomach for my flavor of justice. Unless you’re trying to tell me you that you agree with me? _”_ Dick averted his eyes and swallowed, jaw set like he either had something consoling to say or that he we wanted to punch Jason. When the two of them were together, there was no in between.

Dick’s hands turned into fists, but more like he was trying to control his emotions than that he wanted to fight. “Of course I don’t agree with what you did Jason. It’s not how we do things, but I personally owe it to you to give you another chance after everything we’ve been through. After everything _I_ have done. And you didn’t mean for it to happen. I shouldn’t have gotten caught. I should have known he had a gun but I wasn’t paying attention. Rookie mistake.”

“Don’t you dare, Grayson,” Jason hissed, chest hurting with his heavy breathing pushing against his bruising. What Dick said struck a chord with him, and not the right one. There was too much history between them and Jason couldn’t help but feel the flare of heat within him. Dick was always doing that when Jason did something wrong. He would yo-yo between beating himself up and quite literally beating Jason up for each and every one of his… _moral shortcomings._ “Don’t you do that. Don’t you fucking dare do that. Don’t act like the blood on my hands is yours. What? You gotta make everything about you? I’m the one who sent that bullet through that piece of crap’s body. It was no accident it killed him either. You know I don’t miss.”

“Stop.”

“No, you need to hear this, Dick. When that man took his last breath all I felt was relief. Relief that he couldn’t kill another civilian. I thought ‘good riddance,’ because better his life than yours. And even then—the fact that the bastard even tried it, I wanted to be the one to make him take his last breath. I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. That’s who I am.”

“What are you trying to prove?” Dick asked, looking down at him with his electric blue eyes, shadowed nearly black in the dim lighting, fingers clenching on the thin white sheets by Jason’s arm.

“Tryna prove to you who I am,” he replied steadily. It wasn’t as if Jason indiscriminately killed, but he had no delusions about it. He wasn’t the _good_ guy; He couldn’t be to do what had to be done. To protect the weak and innocent, he had to get dirty and take out the garbage. Jason had to make sure Dick knew who he was, and what he was protecting by not saying anything to Bruce about what happened that night. “But that’s not on you. This is who I always was.”

“No, not always,” Dick said sadly, seeming to have resolved the civil war going on in his head. “And no matter what you do or say, you can’t change who you are at the core. And that’s not a murderer or a saint or whatever else. Even death couldn’t change the fact that you care about others. You care way too much, and it has always gotten you in trouble. It makes you angry, defensive.” Dick shook his head. “I know you were raised to think it was a flaw, and maybe on the streets it was. But on the field, under a mask, your heart is the only thing you have that’s your own. You think I don’t see victims, wounded both physically and psychologically, and don’t want to shove an escrima stick down their assailant’s throats and turn it on, voltage on full blast?” Jason raised an eyebrow at the imagery. “God, sometimes I’d even dream about it. It’s not how we operate, Jace, but I see the appeal. And maybe we’ll never see eye to eye, but I’ve seen how much you’ve grown, and how much you help people. It would be almost selfish to try and lock you away. It doesn’t mean I won’t try to stop you if you cross the line... But not today. Not like this.” Dick had his gaze locked onto him, and Jason missed having his mask, his hood, some sort of barrier between Dick Grayson and himself. The man that was always what everyone needed and wanted, and not even Jason was immune to this. Even when he was wearing layers upon layers of gear and bullet proof armor, he felt so exposed to him. Whatever narcs he was being injected with to control the pain were throwing him off his game, and he didn’t know what his face was doing. He couldn’t control his expressions at all. “Maybe if I had been there for you… maybe if Bruce knew what you needed, you would’ve had faith in the type of justice we’re trying to achieve. Or maybe it isn’t my place to decide.”

“Why do you even care?” Jason asked voice cracking because of underuse and maybe a little bit of something else. “I know you feel like… like you failed me or some bullshit like that. You always felt that way, and I let you because I was angry. I’m _still_ angry. But none of this is your fault.” He had spent the better part of three years fantasizing about the regret and shame he could make Bruce and Dick feel facing their biggest failure, the one replaced and forgotten. It felt so silly now, and Dick always made him feel like a kid. He wished he had pretended he was still asleep, wished he kept this mission a solo, wished the man didn’t make him remember a life that had ended in an explosion in an abandoned warehouse.

“Do you remember when you first became Robin?” Dick asked, looking down at Jason who felt trapped in his makeshift bed.

“’Course,” Jason breathed, closing his eyes for a second as memories flashed beneath his eyelids. “Best day of my life, without a doubt.”

Dick allowed himself to smile. “You were just a snot nosed kid back then—a real brat, y’know that?”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dick looked so conflicted, like he wasn’t sure whether he should actually say what was on his mind. “And I was doing that whole angsty teenager thing and never really reached out to you. Never in the way I should have. And when I did try, you pushed me away. God, of course you did when I was acting so resentful towards you. You pushed me away and I let you because it was easier for me. I wanted to hate you at first, because although I’m the one who threw it away, you took something precious to me. I was so selfish—but then—Then I saw you wearing that suit, so excited in such a pure way, and any resentment I could have felt just drained out of me. I felt like an older brother who gave up their favorite sweater as a hand me down. And maybe instead of blaming you for it, I realized you had more use for it than me. You always tried so hard in a way I can’t help but admire you for, but I didn’t give you the chance you deserved.”

“You were a kid yourself, Dick.”

“I know, I know. But I keep thinking… If I had stayed and showed you the ropes… became someone you could talk to, it would have been easier for you…” Dick trailed off, studying Jason like a mission he just couldn’t quite figure out. He was waiting for that one big breakthrough to finally crack the case, and Jason couldn’t give it to him. He wouldn’t know what to tell him if he tried. “Maybe if we showed we trusted you, you would have came to me, to Bruce. Maybe you wouldn’t’ve went out that night and—“ he cut himself off, scratching the hairs at the nape of his neck while laughing nervously. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that,” he breathed, obviously unsure of how Jason would react.

Even Jason didn’t know how he would respond himself. He just swallowed thickly, eyes hard and squared at Dick because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “You should only be sorry about saying things you don’t mean,” Jason said finally, closing his eyes like he was getting tired again, but he was absolutely wide awake—he just _couldn’t_ see Dick’s expression.

Obviously it had been the right thing to say, because closing his eyes didn’t help him from hearing the smile in Dick’s voice as he patted Jason’s cheek and said, “I’ll let you rest.” The elder man stood from where he was seated on the cot, leaving it noticeably colder on one side. “Don’t pretend to sleep for too long this time,” Dick said, soft laughter following him out. “Though the expressions you were making throughout were quite amusing.”

 

 

 

 

Jason did a lot of actual sleeping over the next few weeks, like he was making up for all his missed Z’s since first returning to Gotham. He hated not having anything to do for long periods because it was a waste of his valuable time and left him with too much opportunity to become introspective. Jason didn’t like having to think about things so deeply. He liked to keep things quick and simple and didn’t take a lot of detours from point A to point B.

He was starting to do PT and everything was healing nicely. He would have been more worried, but Nightwing was completing his operation while he was cooped up collecting intel. He was no Oracle, but he was always great at finding things that didn’t want to be found.

“How did it go?” Jason asked over a bowl of instant rice. What Jason wouldn’t do for a burger after all of that microwavable food they had been having. The cave was stocked up with tons of the same non-perishables which got old fast.

“Breezy,” Dick replied cockily, strolling in with his suit on and mask off. “I think I should infiltrate the main base before they try and relocate after us hitting all of their lesser ones.”

Jason snorted. “And B always told _me_ that _I_ was always diving head first. You do that alone and you might as well put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye, Golden Boy.”

“You know what, I think I might be able to do that,” Dick hummed, as if truly deeply contemplating it.

Jason was not at fault for the bizarre but oddly enticing mental image that popped up in his mind, and had fight the heat rushing to his cheeks. There Dick went bringing up old habits again. Jason was thankful for being able to integrate a full helmet into his uniform, because back in his old Robin days he would blush so embarrassingly fast whenever he got worked up about anything. It was a fact Dick would take advantage of during the few times they were on missions together, finding it endlessly amusing. He would make fun of him over the comm to get him worked up and angry, or he’d sometimes even whisper lewd things to embarrass him as he was facing enemies. His face would fill with blotchy redness under his domino, pink to his ears, which would just grow darker when he heard Dick’s happy teasing laughter. _‘Gotta learn how to fight in the face of distractions,’_ the older boy would tell him sagely, as if it were for his own benefit.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?” Jason groaned in annoyance, heatedly shoving another bite of rice into his mouth.

“Do what?” Dick asked, blinking in a way that was way too innocent to be genuine.

“And people say you’re the nice one,” Jason muttered.

“ _Tim_ ’s the nice one,” Dick agreed, easy smile playing at his lips.

“And you’re the flexible one?” he mused, wearing a smirk of his own.

“Sure am,” he replied, puffing his chest up as much as his apparent ego. “Also the handsome one, the charming one, the one with the most wit, the Robin with the best backside. You can take your pick, they all apply.”

Jason snorted. He would say Dick was full of himself, but is it really narcissism if he’s not technically wrong? “I’ll give you the last one, no debate there. But the rest of those are definitely me.”

“You can be the handsome one, but charm and wit definitely have to be me,” Dick bargained, casually taking Jason’s fork from his hand and taking a bite of his food. He made a face that told Jason he wasn’t the only one craving a double cheeseburger.

“That’s fair,” Jason nodded, unable to help but break out into a smile at the ridiculousness, eyes turning into crescents because of the hilarity of it all.

Dick’s eyes widened, looking somewhat surprised before melting into an expression Dick usually saved for the other Robins, his teammates, civilians that he saved. It wasn’t one meant for Jason, not one deserved by him. It was soft, and it made him feel quite uneasy. Before the whole ordeal of being bedridden, he was never really forced to interact with anyone this long term. Not anyone he trusted at least. And at the end of the day, despite all of their differences, despite all of the bad blood, he trusted Dick with his life.

“So that scowl isn’t permanently attached to your face,” Dick said in wonder.

Jason reflexively tensed his expression up again, and Dick breathed out a soft laugh. He brought up his hands to Jason’s face, slowly, as if approaching a flighty animal, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep himself from flinching back as if he were one. Jason’s eyebrows scrunched together when Dick’s fingers made contact with his jaw. Dick's thumb stroked his cheekbone, physically trying to ease his expression, and Jason couldn’t help but relax the muscles he didn’t even remember tensing.

He wanted to close his eyes and just be in the moment for a change. He didn’t know how to handle things like this.  Dick was always a tactile person, but he never usually tried with Jason. Sometimes it seemed like he would approach with the intention to, but he would recoil back and think better of it. This lead him to think that something had changed between them, some wall broken, and he was unsure of whether they were Dick’s defenses or his own that were down. “Dick?” he questioned, voice barely above a whisper, but apparently loud enough to break whatever trace the elder man was in.

He retracted his hand to scratch the back of his neck bashfully, standing up straight instead of leaning over Jason in his chair. “Sorry,” he said, as if unsure about what he was apologizing for or what he was doing. “But you should smile more. You really look your age when you smile. Like nothing has changed.”

“A lot has changed,” Jason replied lightly.

Dick looked at him appraisingly for a second, as if seeing something he never had before. Another easy grin showed up on his face. “Sure has.”

 

 

 

 

 

“You fucking idiot. Do you not value your life? Wanna die?” Jason gritted, pulling Dick out of the ruble of the crumbling enemy base. He had no clue where it was coming from, but he was so inexplicably angry and worried he could hardly even believe himself. “Been there, done that. And it sucks. Wouldn’t recommend the experience, Dickhead.”

“It worked out in the end,” was Dick’s rather optimistic reply. “I mean; we _literally_ took their base down. We have to get extra points for the symmetry of it all.” Dick was really the kind of guy to see the glass half full, even when it was empty. 

The enemies had taken out every type of fire power they had on Dick, who had expertly avoided and dodged his way out of being maimed. The idiots didn’t really think things through, apparently, and shot the support beams of the building until the whole place came tumbling down.

 “You really owe me for this,” Jason said as they scavenged the area, clothes covered in dirt and debris. He was mostly healed, down to just bruising that honestly looked a lot worse than it was.

“No, I think this makes us even. Plus, this was your mission to start with. I’m helping you.”

“When did I ask you to?”

“Well, you didn’t ask me _not_ to. Plus, we make a great team if I do say so myself.”

“I’m not exactly a team kinda guy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I beg to differ—Though I do have a suggestion. Next time, we should wear matching costumes. Y’know, really sell this team image.”

Joke or not, Jason cringed at just the idea of it. “Remind me _never_ to do a mission with you ever again.”

Dick’s laughter was nothing but jovial.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They began doing missions together a lot more often, and by no choice of Jason’s, that’s for sure. Nightwing would show up just as things were getting good, and the Red Hood would begrudgingly fight side by side with him. Nothing else he could do when he was at the climax of conflict. Wasn’t long before Dick started showing up elsewhere too.

Jason was sitting on the edge of a building, feet swinging as he took in the city lights. The horizon was lined with a deep orange despite it being the middle of the night. The light pollution always made the sky a hazy sort of blue color. He saw all the skyscrapers up above and all the taillights down below. Gotham was a lot of things, but despite all the bad, it was never quite pitch black.

He heard the familiar clank of a grappling hook attaching itself by where he was sitting, between the flag pole and the large gargoyle on the corner of the building. With that level of skill and precision it could have been a number of people, but really, it could only be one.

He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Dick popped up and claimed the spot next to him. It was becoming a regular thing between them, Dick showing up and Jason telling him to leave him alone. He wasn’t sure when, but he was slowly giving up the second part somewhere along the way.

“You stalking me or something?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What makes you say that?”

“Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is an enemy action.”

“I admit, it’s no coincidence. But I come in peace.”

“How’d you find me?” Jason asked as if it mattered. Finding people and bugging them was Dick’s specialty—to the extent that he should probably begin including it on his resume. Somewhere between masked vigilante and heir to a multibillion dollar company. “What did you bug this time? My clothes? My shoes?”

 “Your helmet, actually,” he shrugged, and Jason glared at his helmet by his hip in betrayal. Dick was leaning forward to look down, not at all afraid of tumbling down. He was about as at home on building tops as he was at Wayne manor. Loved heights about as strongly as most people hated them.

“What are you doing up here?” Dick asked, obviously a bit chilly from the way he was curling into himself. The thermoregulatory tech of his suit was on the weaker side to accommodate his brand of movements, so it was hard to fight the Gotham chill unless he was in motion. “It’s too high up for patrol.”

“I’m just up here watching the city with old Charlie,” he nodded his head at the Gargoyle by his side, before patting it like they were good pals. Dick snorted, following Jason’s gaze down below. “Sometimes you have to step away from something to really see and appreciate it.”

“Not always,” Dick shook his head, turning his gaze back onto Jason. “Some things can surprise you when you take a closer look and see them for what they are.”

 It was unnerving the way the man kept watching him, and Jason cleared his throat before the conversation could take an odd turn. Nothing good came when Dick wore that soppy expression of his. It meant he would want to talk about his _feelings_ and bring up the past, say something about them being _brothers_ and expect Jason to spill his guts. The thought agitated him and made him nervous. “Gotham ain’t one of those things, Dickie. The closer you get the more you see the loneliness on the crowded streets, smell the piss in allies you pass, hear the horns of impatient people trying to get to places they don’t wanna go. Gotham’s a beautiful city. When you take ten steps back, shut one eye, squint the other, and tilt your head as far as it goes.”

“Yet you don’t seem to hate it,” Dick murmured distractedly, gaze still on Jason despite all the sights and movement below.

“I was raised here. I know the streets better than my old man’s face. Good thing, too. The city is my first love… even if she doesn’t always love me back.” Jason didn’t know how to phrase it, but Gotham was one of those places that made each glimmer of hope so special, each bond so important. There was so much movement and magic and tragedy, filled with every type of person from every kind of place. Jason loved and hated the city, but most of all, he wanted to save it. For all of the differences Jason had with Dick, he knew this was something they had common ground on.

“And here I am thinking I was your first love,” Dick laughed lightly while batting his eyelashes at him, teasing in the way he always had. He was always one to try to add levity and ease the atmosphere. He was obviously unaware of how he had hit the nail on the head, and Jason tensed for a moment, thinking about his days as Robin. Scrawny, short, with a mess of curly hair, trying to fill the footsteps of someone not perfect, but damn well near it. Dick. Nightwing. He was always something he couldn’t be or have. He was older, more experienced, and genuinely seemed to care for Jason’s wellbeing when he should have wanted nothing to do with him. Because if Jason was in his shoes, he would have taken that bitterness to the grave.

As Robin, Jason would see men and women, heroes and villain alike, fall for his charm, good nature, and good looks. And Jason… Jason was a teenager. He had never met someone like Dick before, who was taken by most, and liked by almost everyone. Someone who was so purely good despite all the shit life gave him. Even Batman, for all of his morals and justice, had such a darkness to him, unlike Dick who came out of everything stronger and more determined. So yeah, Jason might have had a childhood crush. Grew out of it like those scaly green hotpants though.

“You were actually my second one,” Jason replied in jest, turning a playful smirk at him despite the truthful answer. He would have been mortified to say this to him just a few years ago, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Can’t blame me for it though, looking like that and dressed like that in front of a kid going through puberty. Had me thinking it was on purpose.”

That must have caught him off guard, because he was quiet for a moment, and Dick always had a comeback, mouth always loaded with something witty or silly to say. But instead he looked thoughtful—not judgmental—just considering.

“You know… back then. I wouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to—“

“I know, Dickface.” He stood up, shoving his helmet onto his head, not bothering to remove the tracker that he knew was still on it. “Maybe we should stop living in the past and start moving forward.” He leaped towards another building down below, landing on it heavily. He didn’t have to look back to know that Nightwing was right behind him.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feedback would be much appreciated :D


	3. Chapter 3

 

As annoying and tedious as recon was, Jason was there because he had to be—That’s what he told himself at least. Truth was, a few months prior and he wouldn’t be touching this mission with a ten-foot pole. Especially not after knowing _who_ would be on the guest list. Still, he had an itching feeling that the only reason Dick was going at all was because of Jason mentioning it to him some weeks ago.

The Grand Gotham Theatre was being reopened following its destruction in some sort of fight or another (the city was always being torn down, nearly as fast as it was growing). It was originally one of the many historic sites, which just meant it was old as hell and had slowly become quite run down over the years. Seeing the incident as an opportunity, the city refurnished and restored the entire building in the process of repairing the damage. The place was practically plated with gold by the time they were done—the dome on the top of it actually was—and Jason couldn’t help but think about what a waste it was when there were people begging for a few coins just down the street. He couldn’t deny that it looked unreal though. Even after living in the lap of luxury in Wayne manor, he couldn’t help but feel in awe in events like those.

The upper-class of the city were always looking for an excuse to meet up and drink the night away, so the reopening party found politicians, celebrities, athletes, businessmen, and those born with heavy pockets all intermingling under one roof. And then there was Jason, helmet hair and a tuxedo, nursing a champagne flute off to the side.

He didn’t know what type of intel Dick was gathering, or if he had a specific mission in mind, but he could tell the man was pulling out all the stops. Dick’s method of gathering information was to get up close and personal with the guests, while Jason’s was to lay low eavesdrop. In Jason’s professional opinion, it wasn’t as if they were going to air their dirty laundry to the ward of Bruce Wayne when they were trying their damnedest to impress him, but to each their own.

He watched Dick from across the room, as if his mission was to spy on _him_ rather than anyone else. Despite their differences in gathering intel, it couldn’t be said that Dick didn’t get the job done. As customary during these events, the man was surrounded by a group of girls as he greeted and charmed all the other guests. Some of them were actresses who performed in the theatre, others the daughters of politicians and socialites. The young daughters of those on the wrong side of business were often their Achilles’ heel—too eager to please, too unaware of Dick’s intentions. They always ended up leaking info like they were the plumbing system in Jason’s old safe house.

Although he wasn’t as attention grabbing as Dick, it didn’t help Jason from getting curious stares from the people around him wondering what he did, who he was, who he knew, and what made him important enough to be there. He had actually met many of the other attending guests before, but he had grown nearly a full foot since then, no longer fidgeted with his cuffs or hid in the restrooms until either the party was over or Bruce caught on to him. He was an adult while the Jason Todd they knew was a boy who would never get the chance to grow up.  

Dick was obviously very aware of his presence in the party, although his eyes never visibly left the people he was talking to. The man was all charming grins and cheesy lines in a way that so easily captured their hearts—and somehow managed to squeeze at Jason’s. And not in a good way either. Jason had forgotten that he was supposed to be listening in on conversations altogether, eyes fixed on Dick. Probably feeling his heavy stare, Dick blinked a few times before turning his way, mouth parted slightly in a way that Jason found idiotic. Life was unfair though, and no amount of stupid expressions made the man look bad—some people really had it all.

Obviously amused that he had caught Jason staring, Dick walked towards him with a playful smile, assuring his entourage that he would be right back.

“Had your fill of schmoozing for the night, Richard?”

“Nah, I think I have room for one more,” he joked, hands deep in his pockets and voice low.

Jason acted as if he was looking around, furrowing his brows as if he couldn’t find what he was looking for. “I don’t see any busty red heads around.”

“Very funny,” he responded drily. “What are you doing, anyways? Besides longingly watching the girls I was talking to,” Dick teased, but in that same light conversational tone he always used at these types of shindigs—as if all of his words were just air and had no real meaning—but Jason could always tell when Dick was gauging something, and that’s what he was doing right then. Dick had no clue what to make of Jason since spending more time with him, always caught between not trusting him or giving him the benefit of the doubt—though he always seemed to choose the latter. Jason wasn’t sure if Dick’s “Joke” was meant to rile him up, but at that moment all he wanted to do was pull at Dick’s crooked tie (Alfred would be ashamed of the state of it) to physically shake some sense into him, because he really was burning with the jealously Dick implied and the man was an asshole for pointing it out. Dick was lucky they were suited up in tuxes instead of Kevlar, because they were long due for a fight and every time he saw him he got worked up and ready for conflict.

It then occurred to him that he wasn’t jealous of Dick for getting to talk to those girls. He was jealous of _those girls_ for talking to _Dick._ The realization was a freight train to his consciousness and he was totally caught off guard by it. Jealously implied possessiveness, which implied _something_ beyond physical attraction. Objectively, Dick was an attractive guy, he’d either be a liar or blind not to acknowledge it, but the man didn’t owe him anything. Jason didn’t own him—didn’t own anything besides great hair, a red helmet, and bit too much pride.

He didn’t know if he should have been more shocked by his own obliviousness or by Dick’s.

“They’re just talking to you because you look easy,” Jason retorted, chugging the rest of his drink like it was the whiskey that he could really use by then.

“That’s because I kind of am,” Dick replied with a laugh, but they both knew that wasn’t true. Dick’s kindness came easy, he even _loved_ easy, but when he fell _in_ love it was another story. He always freefell into it while ignoring all else, giving every single last piece of him until there was nothing left for himself. That was something that could _never_ be easy. “Just a tip, Jay. It would help if you didn’t look like you were trying to glare holes into them.” Jason thought that would have been a useful skill.

“The only one I was glaring at was you, Richie Rich,” he jeered, which sounded suspiciously like ‘the only one I was paying attention to was you.’ Luckily, Dick didn’t seem to catch it.

“I should go back to them. At least they laugh at my jokes,” Dick said, looking over his shoulder as he extended a thumb at the group he was with, but he made no move towards them.

“At least I don’t force myself to,” Jason scoffed, before Dick was next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and steering him towards the hors d’oeuvres.

“That’s what I love about you, Jay,” Dick said happily, either not noticing or mentioning the way Jason tensed up a bit at his word choice. “Always bordering on _too_ honest.”

“Am I supposed to feel complimented by that? And aren’t you gonna go back to your harem of women, _Richard_?” he goaded.

“You kidding? My jaw might dislocate from all this smiling.”

“You’re smiling right now,” Jason pointed out, eyeing the fancy finger food which were literally worth their weight in gold.

“Smiling feels like less work when you mean it,” he said with a sigh, filled with implications Jason didn’t have the mind to think about. “And right now, I’m exhausted.” And Jason couldn’t blame him for it after all that prancing around he had been doing.

“Maybe you would’ve been less tired if you didn’t spend so much energy flirting.” It was meant to be a joke, teasing, but although he managed to keep the bitterness out of his tone it remained in his eyes. Not that Dick would have looked to notice.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Dick responded, sounding a lot more serious than Jason expected him to. “I was just messing around and gathering intel. Being friendly.”

“Right,” he rolled his eyes, this time in good nature. “Tell _them_ that.”

Dick laughed with the shake of his head. “Plus, I was supposed to greet everyone in the room, and I have. And I’ve gathered enough dirt to put a plan into motion to bust a rumored drug smuggling stint. I’ve been productive. I deserve a distraction.”

“And that distraction is me?” Jason asked skeptically.

“I’ll have you know; you are _very_ distracting.”

He didn’t say so, but those were Jason’s thoughts exactly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He didn’t know how it ended up this way. They were just both coincidentally at the opening party—okay, not coincidentally, but still, he could have never foreseen the night ending like _this_.

Somehow, despite Dick’s claims of wanting to go home, they were watching the first showing in the theatre together. They were up high in the exclusive VIP balcony seats that were sectioned into pairs, for those who wanted privacy and had enough money to buy it.

It was a modern rendition of ‘Oliver!’ which had been playing in that same theatre back when the area was nearly on par with Broadway.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dick said, leaning over his seat to whisper at him. Of course he couldn’t keep himself from being heartfelt and honest for half a second. “I think this is the closest we’ve been since…” he trailed off meaningfully, eyes bluer and smile more genuine than Jason’s ever could be.

“Nah, I think the closest we’ve been is when I have a fist to your face,” Jason joked with a smirk. “Or maybe all the kicks I land on ya.”

He looked taken aback before breaking out into a laugh himself. “Are you kidding? I’m positive I’ve landed more punches on you than the other way around.”

“You bats always go around rewriting history,” he muttered.

“You’d know since you’re one of us.”

Jason just snorted in response, turning his head towards the grand stage as the show began. The show was great, and it was a rare moment that Jason truly forgot where and who he was for even a second. He hardly ever let his guard down long enough to really truly enjoy something like that, especially when he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t until about half way through that he noticed Dick watching him as he quietly sang along to one of the songs, having known all of the lyrics by heart. The musical was a bit too on the nose for his life.

He reclined deeper into his seat, tilting his head towards the man, mouthing ‘I know it’s hard but eyes off the merchandise and onto the show,’ with a nod of his head towards the stage. Dick was a master at reading lips but he would have thought that the man didn’t get it by the way he kept looking at him, eyes wide like he hadn’t even noticed he was staring. Jason gave him another pointed look before Dick finally turned back towards the stage with an unmistakable smile on his face.

“What? It’s a _classic_ ,” Jason muttered lowly, to which he was sure he heard some sort of tickled sound at his side. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly irritated or annoyed at him for it. If anything, he was amused by all the banter they shared. It added a sort of lightheartedness in his life that very few provided. So much so that he didn’t even try to hide as he continued to mouth along to the songs.

Soon after, he felt a light pressure on his shoulder and he tensed his back straight guardedly before noticing it was just Dick, eyes closed and mouth agape. His initial instinct was to shake him off, tell him to beat it along with a few other choice words, but he couldn’t find it in himself to after seeing that absolutely dead expression of his. He was enjoying the show anyways, and there was no need to distract himself from it by waking him.

Jason knew Dick had to be tired. He had had to be Nightwing, Richard Grayson-Wayne, and Dick all within the same twenty-four-hour period. He was obviously not getting much sleep either, wore himself as thin as his uniform, because it was in his nature to work until he burned out and physically couldn’t keep going anymore.

So Jason let him sleep until the show was over and didn’t even mention the way he snored and mumbled names in his sleep, the light drool stain on his expensive Armani button up, or the way he missed his favorite song in the play watching him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 “No. No, no, no, no, _no_ ,” Jason chanted, swinging a punch at the brick wall with every syllable self-punishingly. His fists were red and raw, having peeled through the first few layers of skin and bruising his knuckles underneath. “ _No_.”

“ _Jason_ ,” Dick said sadly, upon the tragedy he had witnessed. “Jason, stop.” Jason had been trying to stop an operation laundering orphaned children, and the men behind it had gotten away. He had saved a dozen of them, but at least five had died in the process. He was seething in rage, and most of it was aimed at himself.

He just kept swinging, fists coming in harder and harder until he bled, hands red hot and stinging. He deserved the pain—deserved a lot more than it for failing those kids. Unlike him, they never got a taste of the good life and they died that way. They never had a Dick or a Bruce to show them that life wasn’t all that bad—that no matter what they were born into they still had a chance at being loved. The guilt, pity, the overwhelming grief were just too much for him. Those kids were depending on him and he failed them.

Eventually he ran out of steam and leaned his body forward, forehead propped on the cold brick wall. His eyes were stinging and he scrubbed at them with his bloody fists before the wetness could reach them. His chest was heaving with every breath and Dick was just towering over where he was bent over, watching with that somber look of his.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dick said, finally, after long moments of silence.

“Yeah? Well what was it then? Because I sure as hell didn’t save ‘em. If I called you for help, if I was faster. I should have been _better_. I wasn’t good enough.” He was _never_ good enough, and everyone around him was always facing the consequences for it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Jay,” he said, voice still solemn as Jason jerked away from the hand placed on his shoulder. “We can’t save everyone. We can try but sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we just _can’t_. The weight of the entire world isn’t on your shoulders, even if it feels like it is. What makes you think I can’t understand that, of all people?”

“How can you understand? You were raised by people who were great at what they do. I was raised by addicts and fuck-ups. Can’t change your DNA, Grayson. This is just who I am. I failed them. I failed them,” he said manically. “I didn’t pull the trigger but I _killed_ those kids.”

“No, you did everything you could. Don’t do this to yourself, Jay. That man killed them, not you. You’re their hero,” and Jason couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the pity Dick was giving him when he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t stand how Dick was looking at him like he believed in him, like he expected so much. It was misplaced and made Jason’s eyes flash red. Jason was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a hero. That night taught him that more than anything.

“I should stop fooling myself into thinking I’m the good guy, and maybe then you can stop acting like you get along with me,” Dick looked like he had something to say, but Jason beat him to it. “I don’t know why you keep insisting that I have something worth salvaging. That you keep showing up when I sure as hell don’t ask for it. You’re wasting your time. Why did you even come here?”

“We’re your family, Jason. That’s what I’m here for.”

“You’re _not_ my family,” Jason gritted harshly, not lifting his head to see the inevitably hurt expression on Dick’s face. Dick had always had a temper to him and Jason needed to exploit that. He was like an unused match and Jason just had to strike him the right way so he’d ignite. He wanted Dick to hate him, he wanted to be punished. He didn’t deserve to be happy, didn’t deserve the good anyone offered him. “Just leave. What do you think will happen if someone sees us? Everyone knows that I’m a criminal and you’re Batman’s _bitch._ It’s about time you gave up pretending we don’t have to be enemies. That we have anything in common. Step back in line.”

When he did glance up he saw the way Dick’s fists clenched and his nostrils flared as he tried to keep calm. “You’re hurt Jason. Go home and get some sleep.”

“No sleeping for me tonight Dick. Hell is to pay for what happened here, and fuck what anyone says but those men and anyone who has so much as _breathed_ in the same room as them are marked for death. And if you get one of your little feathers in my way, I’ll skin you and everyone you love with the rest of ‘em.”

“Jason—Jay. Christ! Just calm down. This isn’t like you. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret,” Dick said, approaching him again, extending his arm towards him like an olive branch, but Jason wasn’t taking it.

“No, Dick. This is _exactly_ like me. You always say that and I let it go because we'd all rather think the Lazarus pit is what did this to me. That I wasn’t this fucked up the whole time. Wouldn’t want to taint your memory of poor little bird, Jason Todd. Well that kid is dead. Never existed. I’ve never been anything more than justice and anger.”

“Jay…” Dick said, hand running through his hair in frustration. "There is nothing wrong with you. You have every reason to be upset."

“Stop, just stop acting like you care.”

“I’ll stop acting like it when I _actually_ do stop caring.”

“What you care about is yourself, Dick. Don’t fool yourself. You didn’t save me, didn’t even attend my funeral when I was gone. Don’t act like you ever gave a damn about me. I bet you don’t even care about those other brats in the Robin costume. They’re just a way for you to clear your guilty conscience, you selfish piece of shi—,” Jason was cut off by a right hook to his jaw, so hard he was practically seeing stars. It was almost cathartic.

He stared back wildly at Dick, and he thought he finally got to him, seeing all that anger and hurt in the elder’s eyes. Even under the dim ally lights Jason could see the way his cheeks had turned red and how the fist he was cradling with his other hand was shaking. He braced himself for another punch, for the punishment he deserved, and he shut his eyes in acceptance as Dick approached him. He didn’t even brace himself for the second impact when he was pulled forward harshly. Jason didn’t know what was going on until he felt lean, firm arms enveloping him. Dick was all warmth and heat wrapped around him in the night chill. He could have freed himself if he really tried, but Jason was frozen, burned out from all of his anger and grief.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Jay,” Dick said, voice harsh but muffled through the fabric at Jason’s shoulder. His fingers were buried in Jason’s hair, pressing almost painfully against his skull. The pressure was oddly grounding, anchoring him down and away from all the rage and heartache brewing at the surface. “But I’m not going to give it to you. I’d give you whatever you need but not this.”

Jason’s hands dangled uselessly by his sides as Dick held onto him, and he couldn’t remember anyone holding him like that before. Like it was important and there was no place that he’d rather be. The moon could have fallen from the sky or the Joker could have claimed Gotham and Jason was sure neither of them would have noticed.

They stayed like that for moments, unbreathing and unmoving, all to the point where Jason thought they might die like that, Jason caged in Dick’s arms. He couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, dying that way wouldn’t be so bad. Better than at the hands of some lunatic villain who had a lucky shot, or during some mission in which he failed someone _again_. Maybe it would be better like this.

He finally gripped back onto Dick, hands around his back, more out of reflex than anything else. “I killed them,” Jason murmured, gripping back desperately to the extent that he was sure it had to hurt. And maybe it was meant to.

He could feel the other man shake his head against him. “You gave them a fighting chance. _That’s_ who you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for not updating for a month+ but I had severe writers block after finals. The fic is going to be a chapter longer than anticipated because I suck at pacing lol.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter didn't come out the way I expected but I hope it's still okay. 
> 
> I hope your holidays were great and that this year will be a good one for you! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have read this over again before posting but I didn't yet, so sorry for any typos or run on sentences.

Jason avoided returning to Gotham like the plague. He found every excuse, every job, responded to every single favor asked of him to keep him away from that hellhole for weeks, and now he was exhausted. He would have been gone longer but the city was always pulling him back, even when he was so adamant that it wasn’t his home—not anymore at least. No matter how much he wished to get away from it and its toxicity, he was bound there and to the people in it. Much like how he couldn’t choose his parents, the streets of Gotham raised him. He talked like Gotham, swore like Gotham, walked like Gotham, fought, lived, died, and lived again liked Gotham. There was no escaping it.

So, he found himself back there despite any of his attempts to run away from his problems. He was doing such a good job avoiding the topic when he was helping out in Star City, but now all he could think about was Dick’s forlorn face as he watched Jason break down after his botched mission. All Jason wanted was to send those thoughts to hell, watch shitty crime reenactment documentaries, and maybe even let an ice-cold beer nurse him to sleep. He approached his safe house, which was actually just a floor of an old apartment complex he had bought out in the heart of the city, living in plain sight. Call him spoiled rotten, but he couldn’t live in his warehouses without insulated walls anymore. Especially not with how frigid the upcoming winter was going to be.

He whistled the tune to a song he couldn’t remember the name or words to as he approached his apartment, swinging the ring of keys around his finger, but came to a swift halt when he made it to the door. The hairs on his arms were standing straight up and each of his muscles were tensed, reflexes obviously picking up on something his conscious hadn’t caught onto yet. He continued to hum as he unlocked the door and went on as if he hadn’t noticed his visitor. It was best to let whoever it was still think they had the element of surprise. He tossed his bag by the sofa as he quickly scanned the room, taking a mental inventory of his belongings—but it wasn’t as if he had many things around to start with. He usually only kept what would be convenient to quickly pack up or leave if he suddenly had to move. Nothing was out of place, and it didn’t look like anyone rummaged or searched for anything which meant the break-in had to be an ambush.

He made his way to the fridge, alert but appearing totally at ease, the familiar thrilling sensation of adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Just what the doctor ordered. He was dismayed to find he was all out of beer, sighing as he grabbed the hunting knife tucked in a hidden compartment in the cabinet next to the fridge. He had a revolver on him too, but sometimes it was more fun to get up close and personal. Plus, knives were quieter and he wouldn't want the neighbors to complain. Again. 

He really had no idea what to expect. The intruder could have been a number of people on both sides of justice: those he locked up, beat up, went against, or just flat out didn’t like him. He was so good at pissing people off that it was practically a personality trait of his.

Whoever it was had to be good though. Finding his apartment should have been a challenge to start with (it was totally unlisted as payment for doing some mission for the feds back when he tagged teamed with Roy), and the security system he had in place was state of the art.

His ears twitched as he heard a shuffling noise in the bedroom. The intruder was good at the old B&E but not stealth, it seemed. He saw the intruder hunched over his bookcase as soon as he opened the door, seeming to be eyeing it with interest. Quickly, while he had the upper hand, he ambushed the ambusher and pulled them into a chokehold before they even knew what hit them. He learned a lot while with batman and trained with some of the best, but this move was all back-ally Gotham, second nature, and always got the job done. The intruder let out a strangled breath and Jason pulled his knife against his throat, pressing the blade hard enough that he was just barely nicking the skin and ghosting against their artery.

“One wrong move and I split your jugular, got it?” he felt them stiffly nod against him, unable to verbally respond in the hold, hands up in surrender. It wasn’t until then that he realized the familiarity of it all. Even through the angle from behind he saw the slope of that nose, the size of the body in his arms, even that damn scent was familiar. 

“Fucking really?” Jason said, raising his voice in exasperation. It was always fucking Grayson; he should have known. Especially after avoiding everyone’s attempts to contact him he should have known Grayson would be the one to take it upon himself to find him. Tim probably was already keeping tabs on him, but knew better than to meddle with his business. Dick on the other hand just couldn’t ever help himself. He pulled the knife away and loosened his hold, just enough not to kill him but not enough to escape without a fight. 

 “What’s got you so worked up?” Dick gritted through his teeth before breathing in heavily without the pressure of Jason’s arm against his trachea. “Is this any way to treat a guest?”

“Guest implies an invitation, and you’re sure as hell not on the list,” he said lowly, suddenly very aware that he was practically speaking into Dick’s hair, close enough that he could feel the man’s spiked heartrate. Dick didn’t put up much of a fight as Jason pushed him forward onto the wall, pinning him there with his wrist behind his back. “What are you doing here, anyways?”

Despite his position, Dick seemed to be enjoying himself, cheek pressed against the wall, smiling through his sharp breathing. “Oh, kinky,” he cooed with raised eyebrows, using a playful flirtatious tone Jason knew he probably used on the girls he tried to woo.

Jason twisted Dick’s arm further behind his back, enough that it should start to hurt. “I don’t think you’re appreciating how hard I’m trying _not_ to skin you alive right now.”

He should have sensed trouble by the way Dick’s grin grew, and Jason really should remember not to underestimate him and his ability to contort himself in ways no non-superpowered human should ever be capable. “Try it.”  And Dick could put Plastic Man to shame as he managed to bring his leg backwards, hooking his ankle around the back of Jason’s knees to pull with enough force to collapse them. He used that as an opportunity to twist his body around and free his captive arm, and Nightwing with his arms free was a handful to say in the least.

They grappled and tackled, blocked and punched, neither of them really fighting for an upper hand. There was something relaxing about fighting for the hell of it, when nothing was at stake and he could put his mind at rest and just let his body do the talking. He threw a punch and Dick caught it, pushing him back with the force of it it.

“Just like old times, huh, Jay?” And Jason couldn’t help the tilt at the corner of his lips as he thought about the times he could spar with the original Robin. Back then, he could tell the elder was going easy on him but it would still take everything he had to block and avoid all his attacks which just motivated him to get better. It was one of the few memories of his childhood that he would place as pure, genuine fun. The banter that they shared, the physical contact that he was always deprived of, the look of approval and surprise from Dick—Jason couldn’t remember a time being so jovial.

“Except the fact that I’m kicking your ass without the childhood size advantage,” Jason reminded while pushing Dick into the bookcase, noticing the mess they were making. Wouldn’t be Grayson without a mess following him, anyways.

“Come on. We both know we’re about equally matched,” he replied, kneeing him in the gut and forcing him to let go and stumble into a fall. Ever the good sport, Dick smiled brightly and extended a hand down towards him to help him up.

Jason grunted, breathing heavily as he grabbed the outstretched hand. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be outsmarted,” he smirked, instead yanking with all his weight and pulling Dick down with him. There were no rules and Jason wasn’t above playing dirty. He rolled them over so that his legs were on either side of Dick, holding him down with the weight of his body.

“ _You_? Outsmart me?” He grinned mischievously, taking the fall in stride. “I’m older. _Wiser_.” Again, Nightwing with free arms was hell to restrain, and he found himself in the exact opposite position, back on the hard-wooden floor, and Dick’s strong, lithe body over him. Dick wasn’t privy to making the same mistake as Jason, holding his wrists down by his head to make it a bit harder to escape.

“Fuck off. You’re only a few years older.”

“And those few years apparently did a lot, apparently.”

“A lot to your ego, that is,” Jason huffed, noticing they weren’t even fighting anymore. They had gotten so caught up in talking that Dick had him pinned and he wasn’t doing anything about it. They both just took a moment to catch their breaths, Dick panting above him and giving him all sorts of strange thoughts and ideas.

 “So, where have you been these last few weeks?” Dick asked, hair shielding his expression but still showing the slightest glimpse of vulnerability—something that Jason couldn’t remember ever seeing on his face at all. He had thought that this thing with Dick trying to talk to him and get “through” to him had been to clear his conscience or some sort of side effect of that hero complex of his. Looking up at him, he could tell there was so much more to it than that. Avoiding him actually seemed to hurt him somehow _._ “I’ve been worried about you. We all have.”

Wasn’t like he could out and say that besides repenting, Dick was half the reason he abstained from stepping foot into the city. That instead of thanking him for being there or just moving on he acted like a child and avoided him altogether. That he was using not being around him as some twisted form of self-punishment and that his face kept reminding him of his shortcoming that others had to suffer for. He hated showing that side of himself. It was pathetic, really.

“I’ve been… I’ve been busy,” he finally said. It was the truth. Partially. Mostly.

Despite being an obvious excuse, Dick didn’t mention it. “And you’re not busy anymore?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good.”  

They were silent for a moment, and the absurdity of their position hit him. They really weren’t usually that close unless they were fighting, and the fight seemed to be over. Yet there Dick was, trapping Jason with his limbs like he couldn’t let him out of his sight again, like he’d just off and disappear at any moment. And Jason… Jason wasn’t fighting it in the least. “You’re lucky I’m not expecting anyone tonight. Imagine if Tim or someone else walked in,” he said, breathing out a laugh. “Can you imagine what this would look like?”

To his surprise, Dick didn’t laugh, joke back, or tell him to stop screwing around—didn’t even do that thing where he shook his head mirthfully as if exasperated with him. He just continued staring down at Jason with earnest, inquisitive eyes. “And what impression would that be?”

“Well, it would look a lot like…” He swallowed deeply, looking up at Dick with furrowed eyebrows. He could almost swear that the man was getting closer with the way he could make out all his features; He could practically count each of his individual eyelashes if he wanted to, was seeing faint freckles he didn’t even know were there. It took him a moment to realize that, shit, Dick really was getting closer, body being held up by his right hand by Jason’s head and left forearm by his bicep. Jason had always been quick on his feet but it took him a few long moments of pressure on his lips to realize that Dick was kissing him. No movement, no heat, just a firm, chaste kiss filled with emotion. Dick didn’t open his eyes until moments after he pulled away, gaze soft and a bit nervous. “well…” Jason started, blinking a few times as if to dispel a mirage. He couldn’t even recognize his own voice which came out a lot deeper than usual, like sandpaper. “ _Like that._ I’d imagine if they walked in it would look like we were doing something like that.” 

“Would they be getting the wrong idea, then?” He asked, looking somewhere between playful and frustrated. “Did _I_ get the wrong idea?”

Despite the glimmer of hope in his eyes he looked down at Jason like he had the power to absolutely break him, and he wondered when this all happened. How did he miss this and where did all of that intensity come from? When did Jason become something Dick needed so much as to look so starved of him? As far as he knew, the depth of Dick’s caring for him was not wanting him to die—a sense of responsibility—but this was far beyond that. He noticed Dick wasn’t breathing at all anymore, still waiting for his response, and it could not have been healthy at all. That was why he considered it a selfless act when he craned his head up and guided Dick’s neck down with an open palm, pressing their lips together again. It was like he brought Dick back to life again. Soon, Dick was breathing all the air from Jason’s lungs greedily. And he let him. God, he’d let him do _anything_ with that hand in his hair and those soft contented sighs against his lips.

Dick stopped supporting his own body weight, laying flush against Jason who welcomed the burden fully, one hand on Dick’s hip and the other carding the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Dick was kissing him so carefully, like it was something important to him—like it really mattered. And Jason realized, it mattered a whole lot more to him than he thought too.

 Jason’s body was on fire as he moved his lips against Dick’s, in a slow and steady but bruising kiss, like he had all the time in the world. He just didn’t want to rush it. The faster they moved the faster it would be over, and Jason couldn’t count on life giving him something so good more than once. He couldn’t even believe Dick was letting him do this with him to start with. He was just waiting for what they were doing to hit him, for Dick to realize it was a mistake, backtrack and apologize. He didn’t think he would be able to face him if that happened.

He almost thought that was exactly what was happening when Dick pulled away for a moment, but instead he looked so absolutely dazed and satisfied, eyes going to and from Jason’s parted lips and his eyes, gauging his reaction. He had that goddamned “runner-up to world’s best detective” face on, and fuck if Jason found that anything but cute. He brought his thumb to rub at the sharp of Dick’s cheekbone, placing soft butterfly kisses his way down his jaw and back to his lips.

“You know, this isn’t what I expected from you,” Dick said contemplatively between the connection of their lips. “I didn’t take you for such a romantic.” Jason didn’t miss the implication that this was something Dick thought about.

“There is a lot you don’t know about me… Disappointed?” Jason ventured, fingers toying with the hem of Dick’s t-shirt. He hoped there wasn’t a twinge of insecurity creeping into his voice.

“Not in the slightest,” Dick said fondly, eyes gleaming at him. The words were nearly lost between their mouths. “I knew you were all bark and no bite.”

Jason took Dick’s bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it back with enough pressure to bruise, enough for him to faintly taste copper. “You sure about that?” He felt more than heard the groan against him, and God, his imaginations didn’t do this justice, and he was suddenly very aware of the heat growing between their hips. “I think I have plenty of bite in me.”

Dick moved his lips from Jason’s mouth to his neck, brushing against it with a few light nips along the way, like a teasing sort of payback for before, until he settled on a spot and suckled at the skin there. Jason didn’t believe there was a heaven until that very moment.

Then Jason felt the hand that had been ghosting under his shirt playfully walk its way down to his belt buckle, toying with it. Jason was no bumbling virgin but he panicked for reasons that were beyond his own comprehension. Logically, he knew the direction this was all going in and he wanted it. Oh God, did he want it. But he didn’t want this thing with Dick to end with regret, when whether he liked it or not, he was a part of the only family he had left in the world.  

Jason was torn. He had exactly what he wanted being handed to him on a silver platter and instinct told him to take it before it was taken from him. To have or be had. But it couldn’t be that easy. And he knew if they took it there, if he had a taste of what it was like to have Dick so fully and so completely, he wouldn’t be able to move on. He was fine if he was being used, fine if he was just Dick’s flavor of the week, if he was just what the man _thought_ he wanted; he would hold no grudges in that aspect, but somehow it being something deeper was even more terrifying. But that was unlikely, anyways. Hell, Jason didn’t even think Dick liked men romantically, yet there he was, in Jason’s lap like it was the most natural thing. But this couldn’t last. Sure, Dick always did things wholeheartedly, but that meant he was probably unconsciously just giving Jason what he thought he needed and wanted as a warped version of his desire to help him. That fucking martyr. And he knew it was his anxiety bordering paranoia speaking, but knowing did nothing to quell the panic he was feeling.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Dick assured, having recoiled his arm since the first moment Jason looked unsure. He was biting his kiss-bruised bottom lip in worry, beginning to pull away completely. And Jason couldn’t tell whether he wanted to punch or kiss him (admittedly, those were exclusively the two things he was always torn between when he was with Dick), because of course he’d let Jason get him all hot and heavy and leave him high and dry without the slightest bit of anger. In fact, all he seemed to have was concern for him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Jason guaranteed, sitting up with Dick still on top of him, craning his neck up to plant a kiss that he hoped was reassuring. “Trust me. “

He expected to be asked for an explanation of some sort, but Dick just looked into his eyes for a few long moments. Jason couldn’t help but notice he was wearing that detective face again. Eventually, Dick seemed to finally find what he was looking for, expression changing into careful grin. “Take out?”

Jason blinked a few times before breaking out into a relieved smile of his own. “Only if you’re paying. “

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long to update (again, lol) The classes I’m taking this semester are slowly sucking out my soul, I swear to you. 
> 
> Also, I love the trope that they mitigate every conflict or awkward situation with takeout.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented, read, etc. We broke 200 kudos with the last chapter which I’m excited about since this is my first time using AO3 :D  


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